


Not There

by onthewaters



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Crack, Crossover, Gen, Magic, Silly, Snippet, the one where John is Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 11:46:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onthewaters/pseuds/onthewaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snippet written sometime in 2006. Atlantis has a visitor, one Severus Snape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not There

**Author's Note:**

> Well. I thought this was lost, and on re-reading I'm a little embarrassed by it. I can't remember why I wrote it. On a dare or something? So.
> 
> ***
> 
> If you consider posting this work to Goodreads: Please do not do it. These stories are fanfiction, and I don't want them near a site that's primarily for published original fiction.
> 
> While I appreciate that you might enjoy having them on your Goodreads shelves, please respect my wishes.
> 
> Thank you.

He was a crow among the hawks and sparrows, a malign presence the scientists gaped at and the soldiers eyeballed suspiciously. He'd swept through the Stargate with a chip on his shoulder the size of a plank, permanently annoyed, expecting everything to either go his way or completely wrong. 

He'd dialed in from Earth, stepped through the shield as if it wasn't there, and stood there looking around, not even appearing to notice all the guns aimed at him. He bore no weapon, only a thin short stick and a small traveling case. 

He stayed his steps in the middle of the floor, and glared about himself imperiously, seeming to seek something. His eyes lit on the three people standing at the DHD; he sneered, and in a voice many a sergeant would have envied, bellowed, "Potter!"

On the balcony, John squeezed his eyes closed. Busted. 

~~~~~

Killing Dark Lords was a dangerous pastime, Harry had found. Every witch or wizard with dueling ambitions, every fool spoiling for a fight, every hanger-on with a grudge – they all turned up on his doorstep, making a mess and scaring the neighbors. It was a bother.

Being an Auror wasn't all it was cracked up to be, either. For every hex, there were forms to be filled out, in triplicate, detailing reasons for the hex, reasons why this hex, reasons for not using a jinx, reasons for not attempting a peaceful solution, casualties, property damages, bystanders endangered, bystanders saved, Muggles obliviated, suspects captured, suspects escaped, reasons why suspects escaped. That was the light version. The larger one, for Unforgivables, invariably involved a twelve inch essay on how the curse could have been avoided.

Things came to a head when Ron and Hermione stopped by to be accosted by a fifteen-year-old who wanted to prove he was better than Harry. Of course the git got himself hexed into the next shrubbery. The Ministry of Magic of course monitored the doings of the Aurors closely, and his immediate superior ordered Harry to fill out what was known among the younger Aurors as the Form of Finality. It incorporated the one for Unforgivables, two dozen more questions on why he had not fished the idiot out of the shrubbery (and the nettles underneath), and – this was the last straw – four feet of parchment on how not to involve innocent bystanders in rows he might have with his friends.

It was all he could do not to shove the stack down the official's throat. Instead he settled for burning "I QUIT!" into the wall and Disapparated out of there. Unfortunately, his only thought of destination was "anywhere but here". 

It turned out to be Iowa.

~~~~~

Professor Snape, Potions Master, former spy and Death Eater, killer of innocents and (to his mind) savior of the wizarding world, sat comfortably on a chair and made polite small talk about tea with Elizabeth. John leaned against the wall and wondered when things would start to explode.

"And so, you see, while the entire wizarding world was buzzing about trying to locate its savior, it fell to others to attempt to restore some semblance of order once again."

Elizabeth looked awed. "This is absolutely fascinating, Professor Snape. There was an entire culture thriving next to the one we know, and nobody the wiser?"

John rolled his eyes. It wasn't like Elizabeth to be taken in like that. But who would have known the bloody git could be charming when he wanted to be? 

At least Rodney hadn't succumbed to Snape. He'd reacted the same way as he had to Chaya, which was even scarier. And what was up with that anyway?

When they both looked at him, he realized he'd missed a part of the conversation. "Huh?"

Snape sneered. "Very eloquent, Potter. Do try to pay attention."

"It's Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, Professor," John drawled. "You must be getting old not to remember my name."

Snape looked unimpressed. "As if a false name could ever hide who you are." He glanced at the top of John's head, making him flush with embarrassment. The scar had vanished the moment Voldemort died, but his hair had never learned to do what he wanted it to. 

When John said nothing, Snape continued. "You were about to explain how you came to be a – what did you call it? Air pilot?"

"Air Force pilot," John said bitingly. "And it's none of your business."

"But it is my business, John," Elizabeth said. "If I have to find out that the military leader of this expedition" – here Snape snorted – "is a wizard and never told anyone, I'd like to know how he got here."

Busted, John thought again. It was getting to be a habit. 

"I Apparated to Iowa, didn't have enough juice to go back – the place is a black hole for magic – and didn't really want to, either. But I still wanted to fly. So I changed my name, got into the Air Force, and never looked back." He grinned. "Did you know that the Jumper handles even better than a Firebolt?"

"What about your Gryffindor cohorts?" Snape asked. 

"They get along fine," said John. "And you still haven't said what you want."

"No, I haven't, have I," Snape said musingly, and every alarm bell John had went on full out. 

"Spit it out, Snape," he said. 

The man tried to look innocent, and was almost pulling it off. "Really, Potter. Can't you guess?" He smiled, exposing yellowed teeth. "I'm here to help."

~~~~~

John was hiding out in the lab with Rodney and Radek. Snape had been given a room below sea level; he said he was more comfortable there, and considering he'd been living in the dungeon of Hogwarts, John easily believed him. 

Hopefully, Snape would find the chemists and botanists more exciting than this place. The only thing ever brewed here was coffee, and the only thing ever distilled was Radek's rotgut poison. It wouldn't hold much interest to Snape. He hoped. 

"You're so not a magician," Rodney said, arms crossed over his chest. "I refuse to believe that – that – alchemistical comedy of errors down there."

John sighed. There was a lot to be said for Rodney, not the least of which was that he reminded John vaguely of Hermione, but there were days when this got a little much. "No, Rodney, I'm not a magician. I'm a wizard."

"Hah!"

"Look, how about I prove it to you?"

Radek, who hadn't seen Snape yet, was leaning back and enjoying the show. "Yes, prove, please. Rodney, shut up."

John still had his wand, transfigured into a wristband he didn't take off. He took it off now, and whispered the spell that would restore it. The fabric elongated, hardenend, and as if slipping back into old comfortable shoes, it retook its rightful shape.

Rodney sputtered. Radek sat with his cup halfway to his mouth, not moving. 

The sound of polite clapping made them all start and whirl around. 

Snape stood in the door, now in what John recognized was his dueling robe, accentuating his waist and shoulders. Rodney was blinking in his direction a little helplessly. 

"Well done, Potter. It seems you haven't lost the knack."

"What do you want, Snape?"

Snape didn't answer, just walked idly over to them, looking this way and that, and when it came, John almost wasn't prepared for it. 

The touch on his mind wasn't extracting knowledge this time. Instead it shoved information into his brain, images of Wraith, of Wraith robed and hooded, wandering though a stone building, of cells with ancient people in them, dying slowly, fading more moment for moment, and John pulled back, gasping. He stumbled back against the bench, steadied by Radek's hand on his arm while Rodney got into Snape's face yelling. 

Wraith on Earth, masquerading as Dementors. Nobody knows what is under a Dementor's cloak. It makes it very easy to impersonate them. The only thing that distinguishes them is the feeling of despair. But Wraith can make you feel things. The difference was, Expecto Patronum didn't work on them. 

"Rodney. Rodney. Stop." It was almost a miracle, but Rodney turned to him, face white and worried. John stood up straight, still feeling a bit wobbly but at least not on his knees this time. 

"What do you want me to do?"

~~~~~

Wraith could die. Snape read the reports, and observed the weapons, then got a complete account from Carson Beckett of how the retrovirus worked, what exactly had happened to Michael, to Ellia, to John. John told him what he could, submitted to legilimency for what he couldn't. Rodney, Teyla, and Ronon were interviewed about the enzyme, and Snape's QuickQuill took notes as fast as they could speak. 

Finally, Snape told them he had as many answers as he hoped to get and that he would take his leave. John watched him go, and with him went the last shadow of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.


End file.
